


195% Awake

by accol



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Panty Kink, Phone Sex, Scent Kink, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2169618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accol/pseuds/accol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Wait.  Was that a zipper?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Derek responded with his usual breathing.  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Stiles pushed up on his elbows and pressed his phone hard against his ear, straining to hear what was happening on the other end of the line.  ”What exactly is this emergency?  Are you trapped inside a body bag?  A tent?  An evil zipper factory?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	195% Awake

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [На 195% проснувшись](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4440467) by [Faerydae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faerydae/pseuds/Faerydae)



> Originally posted on Tumblr. [Prompt](http://theteenagehorror.com/post/66526195048/what-are-some-of-your-favourite-kinks-to-read-about).

Stiles swatted at his cell phone, 95% still asleep and groaning with the effort of answering it in the dark.

"Mm," was all he managed, slow and sleep thick.  He wedged the phone between his ear and his pillow as he turned face down and burrowed deeper under his quilt.

A slow exhale was the only thing at the other end of the line.  Underneath his closed eyelids, Stiles rolled his eyes.

"I know it’s you Derek, and this better be a frickin’ emergency," Stiles mumbled.  "We both know that the Stilinski secret is lots of beauty rest."

More breathing.  ”Yes.”

"Yes what?  The emergency thing?  How bad of one because my bed is seriously comfortable and not all of us subsist on protein shakes and moonlight."

Derek’s breathing stopped for a second and then restarted with a hard, sighing exhale.  ”It’s… a hard one.  Something that we should take care of.  Now.”  

There were rustling noises, and Stiles’ eyebrows woke up enough to respond by scrunching.  ”Are you going to die in, let’s say,” he opened an eye and tried to focus on his bedside alarm clock, “the next 3 hours?  I would love to help you with whatever your problem is in 3 hours.”

"No.  Now," Derek said, his voice a rough whisper. There was more rustling.

"Wait.  Was that a zipper?"

Derek responded with his usual breathing.  

Stiles pushed up on his elbows and pressed his phone hard against his ear, straining to hear what was happening on the other end of the line.  ”What  _exactly_  is this emergency?  Are you trapped inside a body bag?  A tent?  An evil zipper factory?”

A long pause followed.  Finally, “I needed your voice.”

"You needed it for what?"  Stiles was now 195% awake and painfully interested in finding out Derek’s motive for calling him at ass o’clock in the morning to do a little heavy breathing with associated clothing removal noises.  Or, at least that’s how Stiles brain stem was choosing to interpret the input it was getting.  His eyes found the red numbers of his alarm clock again.  They were making the adjacent bottle of hand lotion glow like a beacon.  A red light district of moisturizer.  

Derek growled with apparent frustration.  ”The sound of it.  Of you.  Just talk.”

"About?"

"Stiles."  It was half warning, half whine.  

Stiles grinned wide and shifted against his mattress.  ”I might suddenly be at a loss for words, because it really, really sounds like you’re calling me for phone sex.  Are you calling me for phone sex?”

The zipper sound replied, loud like Derek was holding the phone near his crotch for emphasis as he took off his jeans.  Jesus,  _those jeans_.  Stiles had regular appointments with his bottle of hand lotion because of those jeans.  The mental picture of those jeans pushing down below the swell of Derek’s ass and of Derek’s hand reaching down to palm himself through his shorts…

"Seriously, dude.  I might stroke out if you don’t say something soon."  Stiles’ heartbeat thundered in his ears.  

 ”I know you only wear boxer shorts to bed.  I watched you through your window.”

"Christ.  Okay.  Yeah, usually  _not ok_ , but for you I will make a massively huge exception to my usual creeper rule.  Because.  Of reasons.”

"Keep talking."

"Oh, holy shit, yes, good.  You really  _are_  calling me for…  This could trigger some major performance anxiety, you know?  Calling me in the middle of the night and just growling  _GO_  kind of makes a guy forget all of his naughty words.”

Something that sounded amused came across the line.

Stiles almost choked on his dry swallow.  ”I am wearing boxers,” he whispered.  ”Should I be?”

"No," Derek responded immediately.

"So right.  I should definitely not be.  Are you?  You don’t really seem like a boxers kind of guy.  Commando?  I’m gonna go with commando because, hello, mental picture of paradise with the hair and the fly of your jeans and your hand thereabouts."

A hiss met Stiles ear.  

"Fuck."  Stiles shucked off his boxers without leaving his bed, kicking them to the foot of his quilt.  "Tell me this isn’t a crank call."

"I should have come over there so I could put a hand over your mouth."

Stiles grinned helplessly into his pillow.  ”Hey,  _you’re_  the one who called  _me_  looking for a little piece of this talented mouth—”

"You have no idea, Stiles.  The things…"

"I have ideas," Stiles said immediately.  "I have so many ideas.  I have researched ideas.  I have researched ideas several times today alone.  I dream about ideas sometimes.  Lots of ideas."  He shifted his hips against the smooth cotton of his sheets.

"Tell me."

"Really?  Like  _really_  really?  Because I will.  Tell you, I mean.  I’ll tell you right now.”

"Stiles, yes."  Again with the vague annoyance mixed with something that sounded like a grin.

"All right, big guy.  Don’t get your panties in a bunch."  Stiles’ eyes widened.  "Do you wear panties?  Ever?  Like, you know, with like… panties?  I feel another idea coming on."

Derek definitely was laughing this time.  ”I could.  You like that idea?’

"Are you kidding me?  Um, yeah, I like the idea of you in nothing but a pair of panties.  That dark trail of hair against something so soft and out of place.  Fabric barely holding you in.  Fuck."  Stiles swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

"What would you do?"

"Leave a wet mark all over the front of them," Stiles whispered.  He couldn’t believe he was doing this.  With Derek.  He rocked his hips against he bed again, eyeballing his lotion with intent.  "I’d pull them tight over you and use my mouth."

Stiles could hear the rhythmic sound of Derek’s movements over the phone.  Imagining him jerking off to this conversation sent a jolt of adrenaline through Stiles.

"I don’t care what you wear.  I just want to get my mouth on you.  I want you to push me where you want me."

"Ok," Derek gasped.

Stiles thrust against his bed.  His phone was getting sweaty in his palm.  ”And then I’m going to push  _you_  down.  I don’t even care on what.  The ground.  The floor of your apartment.  The backseat of your car.  Yeah, the car.  Push you down and climb on top of you.  Try to pin you down.  And you’d let me.  You’d play along with the human.”

Derek growled.  

"Yeah you would.  You’d be into it.  Pushing up against me.  Pushing your dick up against me."  Stiles’ cheeks reddened in the dark.

"Fuck, I want to smell you right now.  You probably smell so—"  Derek trailed off with a hard exhale.  "Are you… ?"

Stiles reached underneath himself and held back a groan when his hand closed around his cock.  Fuck the hand lotion.  There wasn’t time.

"Y— yeah."

"Say more."

"You think your hand is big enough for both of us?"

"Jesus Christ."

"Spit slick and sliding in there."  Stiles was panting with the intensity of this.  He shoved his pillow away, planting his forehead against the bed, both hands otherwise occupied.  He thrust his hips with a snap, driving into his own hand.  He shifted his thumb, pressing hard and thinking of the feel of Derek’s cock sliding against his.  

"I want to see you right now.  I want to watch you fucking your own hand.  I know that’s what you’re doing."

"Me too," Stiles managed.  "I want that.  I’ll show you.  If you want."

Derek grunted hard and low.  Straight from the gut.  He was coming.  On the other end of the telephone, Derek was coming because of Stiles.  

"I can’t," Stiles gasped.  He curled in on himself as his orgasm lit him up from the inside out.

The moments passed with both of them trying to get their breathing under control.

"Unlock your window.  I’m coming over.  Don’t wash off."

"Fuck."


End file.
